Literary Leftovers
by the flying yolei society
Summary: Rianne's unfinished digi-fics... the good, the bad, and the (very) ugly


**Untitled One **(Written somewhere between The Day I Died and Falling is Like This, edited early November)

I'm the one at the far left on the picture. I'm hugging Hawkmon with my left arm, and he struggles to get out. 'Miyako-san!!" he whines, blushing, as he tries to run away. Hikari is at my right, she smiles. Daisuke shoots love struck looks at Hikari; she glares at him, still smiling. It doesn't show much on the picture, I guess. Koushiro is sitting next to Takeru, who is next to Taichi, who is next to Jyou, whose arm is around Mimi's waist. Iori is grinning like there's no tomorrow, along with Sora, who got her hat out of the closet. It sits proudly at the top of her head, a reminder of the first digidestined. Yamato stands alone at Sora's right, his arm loosely passed around her shoulders. Ken stands behind Iori, a hint of a smile on his pale face. Our digimons are celebrating at our feets, their heads barely showing at the bottom of the picture. My name's Miyako. I was thirteen when the picture was taken, before it all changed.

I was thirteen that year, my eyes were still full of childlike hopes and expectations, how I wished my eyes were green instead of dull brown, how I wanted to be adorably short like Hikari, so I could look up at the cute boys instead of looking down, how awkward all of this made me feel.   
  
  
_ This was originally written as my entry for the Kenyako contest, but I never got to finish it. I had no ideas of what would happen next so I just kind of let it rot in my hard drive... I foud it back in November, corrected some spelling mistakes, added a few things here and there, and that was it) _   
  
  
**Untitled Two** (Written one night where I had decided to stay up very late to read bad ER fanfiction)

He heard the door open, and he felt his body twitch. SHE was home. She dropped her backback on the living room couch, then she sat down and smiled at him. A bright, happy, Junsmile. Beholder of bad Davis-news, that were probably good Jun-news.

-"I saw Matt today" she said, and he knew he had been right. "I saw Matt" actually meant "I stalked Matt" in Junlanguage. It meant that she'd probably spend the evening on the phone with her girlfriends, too, explaining the whole situation with lots of details, time, place, what he had said to him, what she had answered, what he was wearing, and how many seconds the whole encounter lasted. Always seconds, never minutes. 

-"I SAW MATT TODAY." she repeated louder, probably thinking he hadn't understood. He, indeed, had not. She probably saw Matt everyday. She probably knew the color of his underpants, the food he liked best, what kind of soda he choose from the vending machine during lunch, by heart. Kind of like those teen magazine articles "100 Things you NEED To Know About Yamato Ishida" (as if it was a life or death situation, as if someone would ask you, holding a gun agaist your temple, 'Davis Motomiya! What color is Matt Ishida's underwear?') 

-"That's great Jun." he answered dully, grabbing the TV remote and turning the TV on.

-"Ken Ichijouji, the young boy reported missing ten weeks ago, has not been found yet." The newscaster said with a bright smile. Davis closed the TV. (A/N- Is that me, or every TV show in 02 is about Ken?)

-"He said 'Hello!'" Jun continued, blissfully unaware of the whole manoeuver. "To me!"

"He also said he wished you were dead" Davis wanted to say, but he kept it to himself, because while Jun was stalking Matt, she didn't stalk him, and therefore, didn't know a thing about the Digital World, or why Davis had suddenly so much more soccer practice than he did for the past three years.

-"And he was wearing his uniform, but not the tie, and it was so cute, you should have seen him!" Jun squealed. Davis got up, and headed for him room. Jun didn't follow, too engrossed in her Jun-speech. Jun-speeches were always very boring, about high-schoolers Davis didn't knew, about various boys that Davis didn't knew either, the boys changing as the seasons did. Now it was Matt. Two months ago, it was a boy named Alex leading to several Alex-themed Jun-speeches. The speeches never changed, Maybe Jun only switched the names when she was bored, Davis thought, as he entered the tiny, messy bedroom. 

-"I told him 'Hi Matt!' and he kind of tried to hide behind that guy, you know, the one with the big hair, but he said 'Hi.' to me" Jun went on, following Davis into the bedroom. Demiveemon froze, and tried his best to look like a cute stuffed toy that randomly made squeaky noises. 

Davis tried to close the door, Jun kept it open with her foot. "I'm not finished!" she shrieked  
  
  
_ Never finished that one either... I'm a procrastinator. Besides, I didn't know what I could do with Jun except endless Matt-stalking, and it didn't sound like much fun... _  
  
  
**Mimi Had I Loved** (Written somewhere in November)

She was beauiful, everyone told her so. People used to stop her mother in the street. "You have a beautiful daughter" All she remembers is the faces, bending over her stroller. Dark brown chocolate-like, translucid white with freckles, light yellow. "Thank you, say thank you Mimi."

Her mother was nothing out of the ordinary herself. A petite woman with straight red hair in a desolating hairdo and a shy, nice smile, she marveled over her daughter's prettiness like you'd do over a work of art. Look, but don"t touch, Keep it locked away in a room, Let everybody see, but don't let anyone close, for they might ruin the beauty.

The Tachikawa Museum of Art. Five dollars to enter, one single piece, look, don't touch. 

+++

She threw her hair back, pink against the clean white of her shirt, and laughed. She was beautiful, she knew it, for it had been hammered into her head since she was old enough to understand. Beauty is a gift that cannot be wasted. Live up to it. 

She was the beholder of the prettiness, the guardian of beauty, the keeper of the good looks. She smiled, looked at him. He blushed, smiled back, thinking of cottoncandy and pineapples.

+++

They'd brought him cotton candy, pale pink mush planted on a paper cone. The cone grew soggy with spit as he ate, the sugar melting as soon as it entered his mouth. Are you done, yet? they asked, before grabbing his hand for one last ride.

They threw the candy in the nearest trash can, helped him climb on the prettiest horse, the white alezan with the long blonde mane. He felt himself growing dizzier with each turn of the merry-go-round, it went too fast, he closed his eyes and threw up on the floor. 

+++

_ (Maybe a bright sandy beach is gonna bring you back, may not, so now you're off, you're gonna see america)_

He stood on his tiptoes to hug her, she was so tall, her skin felt warm under his fingers  
  
  
_ I remember writing this in biology, while we were supposed to watch a little movie about the heart. I rather like the beginning, but it started to turn into another of those Mimi-leaves-for-America-and-(Insert name here (It was going to be Izzy)- realizes-he-likes-her... blah blah blah.. _  
  
  
**Untitled Three **(Written October)

AND I THOUGHT of Miyako, how she used men before they had a chance to use her. Willis, Koushiro, Jyou. She dreamt of men with red hair, and bright green eyes, who loved soccer, and playing the violin. Scary men with blue eyes like bottomless pits. Young boys with eyes full of hope and childlike expectation. Ken, Iori, Taichi. She'd die before letting them come close. Yamato, Takeru. And me. 

She liked computers best, Miyako. Because they had no feelings and leaved her alone when she pushed the off button. People don't have off buttons, Miyako. They don't have buttons at all. Humans are complicated, and Miyako liked simplicity. Things that could be understood at the first glance, that allowed no space for contradiction, things that were a certain way, and couldn't be another. 

Miyako was very complicated herself, yet, it was a quality she didn't allow in others. She liked Hikari, who liked sunshine, and pretty things, taking pictures and playing soccer. Hikari was wonderfully simple.  
  
  
_ My brother once described Yolei as 'The Joker of Digimon' because you can pair her with almost anybody, and there's probably been evidence of some sorts. That was what I was going to describe in this fic, except that I was running out of ideas, and that I really didn't know in whose POV I was writing.... I was going for Michael, I think... _  
  
  
**Want** (Written December)

Seven days it had been since I had last seen him. Seven days of sadness and something's-missing-ness. Seven days too much if you ask me. I sat on the windowpane, my legs dangling by the open window. I was eight stories above the ground. I'd die if I fell.

I stared at the tiny cars in the street below, each shimmering in the early morning sun. The small dots of people walked hurriedly, toward some unknown destination, not a single one of the stopping to stare at the brown-haired boy in the window. I smiled. 

It had been seven days, I said, but I may have been wrong. Time passes more slowly in the digital world, where he had decided to stay, so maybe it had been just a few hours to him. I hoped it was true, I hoped his heart didn't ache like my own; I hoped he hadn't noticed my disappearance yet.   
  
  
_This was going to be a daiken/kensuke, but I completely ran out of ideas (Why did Davis sit in the window anyway?)_   
  
  
57 (Written late November)

So I look at you over the breakfast table. You drink coffee, black, because there's no sugar. I forgot again, I apologize. You shrug, it's all right, you tell me, but I can see in your eyes that it's not. Not the sugar, but all the little important things, parents-teachers meetings, first school days, talent shows I always missed. (You standing at the very edge of the scene, your harmonica in your hands, playing for a crowd that talks through, your eyes glossy with tears) 

You grab a bagel from the wicker basket between us. There is no butter, though, I forgot, and I know how much you hate butter-less bagels. I know you like fried rice too, and that your hair would curl if you didn't use that much hairgel. I know you have your mother's eyes, and my nose, and I know the way your eyes shine when you're happy, which isn't that often anymore. I don't know your friends, even though I sometimes meet one of them on my way out, the skinny one from your band, the one with big hair you met at camp, the thin purple-haired girl that helps you fix your computer. I don't know who is that Gabumon you sometimes call for in your sleep.  
  
  
_ Matt in the POV of his father. I just kind of let it there, because Richard Ishida is extremely hard to write, and well... I'm not exactly what you call a Matt fan...I made all of this up... but that's what fanfiction's about, no? _  
  
  
**Dreams **(Written whenever the Ken trilogy aired... November 24th!) I wanted to do something freakishly beautiful, something people would be proud of, something that would remind them of me whenever they saw it. The digital world seemed like a good start. It was all data, I thought, data can be reconfigured and erased if you need to. Sometimes I wished my life was data, too.

I don't know when I started to become a little arrogant control freak. Maybe it was when I noticed everything was working the way I thought it should be. Maybe it was when I saw the first control spire, stading high and gray above the ground. Maybe it was when I found Wormmon, small. helpless, someone I had power upon.

Now, nothing is working right, admitting it worked in the first place, which I'm not even sure of,, the control spires are broken and useless, and Wormmon is dead. No, actually not dead, because he's just data, right? Deconfigured would be a better word. Wormmon is deconfigured. Wormmon is no more. Wormmon is dead. 

+++

I lay awake in my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I helped Osamu stick to the ceiling so long ago. He had carefully planned the glueing of the stars, arranging them in neat constellations, Gemini, Leo, the Big Dipper.

Stars are not the same in the digital world. You couldn't see them half of the time, some appeared only in summertime, and some never showed up unless I was away from the base. And away I went, spending nights in the desert, where the skies were clear and high. I'd watch the stars I thought I was the only one to see. I'd give them names, make cards. I named the brightest one after my brother. Osamu (the star) shone brightly every day for a month before disappearing. Probably the digital stars were only data, too, maybe someone else, in a faraway corner of the digital world needed it more than I did. Still, a feeling of unfairness overcame me, and I went back to the base trying hard not to cry. Everything I had once loved had been taken away from me. 

I never went back to the desert again. I worked at night, slept at day, even though I never was the one to sleep much. I'd just stay awake and watch Daisuke-tachi on the little glowing screens, until my head hurted.  
  
  
_ I started another fic, and abandoned this one, because I didn't like it that much... I wrote it at one in the morning, I think... it doesn't make much sense._  
  
  
**Untitled Four**

-"Want something to drink?"

She drops two translucid ice cubes into the plastic glass and pushes it toward him. 'There you go" she says, and she smiles, her teeth glowing in the darkness of the deserted store. It's Sunday, bittersweet Sunday of deserted stores and quiet church whispers.

He swallows, savoring the sweet taste around his tongue, the liquid leaving a cold trail in his mouth, down his throat. "We shouldn't be here" he says, his voice reduced to a husky whisper. She doesn't answer, reaches for his hand instead. 

-"We have to go back now" he continues, his shy voice a little more insistant. She sushes him, shoves him upstairs, her hands warm against the thin fabric of his shirt. "You're the one who's goinna get us heard" she whines, she whines so cutely, he thinks, as she leads him to the living room.

-"You happy now?" she says, and she sits down on the floor, hugging a purple-plaid cushion agaist her chest. He nods, sits down next to her, in front of the tiny TV. She blushes, she never blushes, she's usually as blunt as blunt could be. He puts a hand on her knee, withdraws it, puts it back. She looks up at him, smiles again. His heart beats wildly, fast, too fast. Heart attack, maybe. Can you die of an heart attack at fifteen? He tries to remember biology, last year's biology, the unit on the heart. They dissected a pig heart, the blood on his hands made him sick, he threw up in the little bucket placed near the table.

"You,re sick?" she says, more a statement than a question, her eyes wide behind the wire-rimmed glasses. Miyako's a statementgirl, never asking, always assuming, always confident in her capacity of guessing. She bites the inside of her cheek, a dimplish hollow deforming her round face. "Do you want to go out?" she says, an unusual concern deforming her high-pitched voice.

He nods, they head for the door, and toward the park in front of Odaiba Flower Garden Apartement Building. November. Dull grey and deep brown. She sighs, shivers. The park is deserted, it's too cold for the bird-feeders and too late for the little kids. 

-"Are you cold?" he asks, more too fill in the silence than because he really cares.   
  
  
_ How do you exactly call that pairing? Jyouyako? It appealed to my little odd-couple loving heart, and I wrote it. Abandoned it because I haven't a clue how to write a kiss scene... it was how it was going to end... _  
  
  


Of course, you're free to take one of these and properly end it...I'd be curious to see how that turns out... 

_ all above writing is © [ Rianne][1] unless otherwise noted. Lyrics in Mimi I had loved are propery of Tori Amos. Digimon is © Toei. Thankyou, goodnight _

   [1]: mailto:rianne@chemicalsmile.com



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